


linger like a tattoo kiss

by currahees



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: M/M, slight mention of abuse?? but its barely there, softness i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/currahees/pseuds/currahees
Summary: sledgefu week, 02: touch.ORthe one in which snafu and sledge share a lingering touch.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20
Collections: Sledgefu Week 2020





	linger like a tattoo kiss

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of softness bc i feel bad for breaking people's hearts yesterday <33  
> come find me on tumblr, my user is speirtons!

Snafu didn’t like touching. It might have something to do with his father, who never shyed away from a good punch, or it might have something to do with the endless beatings he suffered as a teenager at the hand of classmates. Either way, the idea of willingly touching someone else was a nightmare to him. Something he’d never want to do.

Then the war happened. And then he met Sledge, the stubborn, dramatic, beautiful and broken boy from Alabama. And one night, everything changed.

It was quiet, too quiet for Snafu’s liking. They were camped out at the top of a mountain range, the battle beneath them dying down hours ago. It was strictly no light and no noise in fear of alerting the other side of their position. It was also freezing. What no one talked about was the shift in temperature from sweltering during the day and below freezing at night. Snafu was sat shaking, doing everything in his power to stop his teeth from chattering.

He feels someone poking his arm and he ignores it at first. But the poking persists. Snapping his head to the side, he shoots daggers at the person to the right of him. But immediately, he softens his expression. Sledge was sat next to him, his arm outreached. He had one of the ridiculous, marine issued blankets draped across his shoulders and was smiling at Snafu.

Glancing back at the rest of the guys with them, Snafu sees that they’re mostly asleep, or on the way to getting there. He listens for a minute, debating whether whispering was worth the risk. He decided it was.

“What?” He whispers, careful not to let his voice raise in any way.

“You look cold,” Sledge replies, his voice equally as soft. There was a slight edge to his whisper, making Snafu’s heart stutter.

“I am fuckin’ cold,” Snafu says, not unkindly.

Sledge makes the same motion as before, holding his arm out and indicating for Snafu to move in closer to him. Once again, Snafu looks around him. A few of the men were sleeping rather close to each other, to stay warm he tells himself. But he knows if he moves closer to Sledge, it won’t be because he wants warmth. There’s a bigger reason, one that’s been plaguing Snafu almost as long as this damn war.

Sledge kicks him gently, pulling him from his thoughts. “Move your ass closer.”

Snafu sighs, shoving his beating heart down and desperately trying to ignore it. He moves in next to Sledge, tucking himself under his arm and resting his head against his chest. At first, he’s awkward and solid, not knowing where to put his hands. But Sledge’s heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest melts away at him. He moves in closer, smelling the rough soap against his skin and the layer of sweat that constantly seemed to be on them, no matter what hour it was. He slowly moves his right hand, daring to rest it atop of Sledge’s.

Sledge’s hand twitches under Snafu’s and for a minute Snafu thinks he’s ruined everything. But Sledge smiles to himself and moves his other hand to sit on top of Snafu’s. He smiles and closes his eyes, resting his head against the rock they were leaning against. Snafu lets himself breathe again, unable to believe what was happening. He’s almost certain that his heart is going to beat out of his chest. Their hands stay like that, touching, for hours. Snafu can’t remember the last time he felt this comfortable with someone else’s touch, but he thinks to himself that he doesn’t want to stop feeling this.

Under the bright stars of the Pacific sky, Snafu allows himself to imagine a world where he doesn’t grimace every time someone hugs him or pats him on the back. And in every variation of this world, it’s always Sledge.


End file.
